


Only Love Can Do That

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: 100 Ways Prompts, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are over one million words in the English language. Many of them convey only a single meaning, and many of them convey multiple meanings, whether alone or with others to give context. None of them, no matter the combination, ever quite manage to properly convey the meaning of "love."</p><p>But we certainly try, in all the ways we can.</p><blockquote>
  <p> Chapter 15: Dean/Cas <br/> Chapter 16: Dean/Cas </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean/Jimmy (SPN) - #21 "You might like this."

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a collection of multifandom drabbles written for the [100 Ways to Say 'I Love You'](http://deanjimmy.co.vu/100ways) prompts. 
> 
> Fandoms/Relationships tags will be added as each drabble is written and posted. Pairings, their respective fandoms, and the prompt will be listed as chapter titles. Additional Tags - including any applicable [Archive] Warnings - will be listed in the notes of each drabble.
> 
> New drabbles will be posted every three days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fiancé is a little shit, but that's why he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, established relationship, fluff and humor

“Come on, just one bite!” Jimmy laughs, holding out his fork. It’s got some kind of green stuff on it, covered in a vinaigrette or some shit.

Dean raises his eyebrows and leans away. “I don’t trust it. It’s _green_ and calls itself _salad,_ that right there is enough for me to _not_ want to try it.”

“It’s not dangerous!”

“You wanna bet?” Dean scoffs. He shakes his head vehemently. _No._ He _won’t_ cave on this. “How do you know it’s not poison?”

Jimmy rolls his eyes, and shoves the fork into his mouth. He chews pointedly, blue eyes boring into Dean from across the table, saying _There, happy? Man up, Winchester._ He swallows, licks his smirking lips, and takes a prim sip of lemonade before turning expectant puppy eyes on Dean. He stabs another forkful, offering it up.

“There, see? It’s not poison,” Jimmy assures. He wiggles the pasta salad stuff invitingly, like you would to a two-year-old. Dean is _not_ two. “Please? Just one bite. For me?”

Dean manages a full five seconds before he rolls his eyes, groaning melodramatically. Those stupid fucking _blue eyes_ and that sweet, innocent _smile._  “Ugh, _fine, fine!_ One bite! But if I end up dead foaming at the mouth, we’ll know whose fault it is,” he warns, leaning across the table. Jimmy rolls his eyes but concedes, holding the fork still while Dean wraps his lips around it and moves back, taking the bite with him.

Dean chews, letting the sour taste of the vinaigrette coat his tongue, feeling the soggy squishiness of the pasta itself. It’s like they let it sit in water before serving it, and it’s _cold,_ for fuck’s sake! He grimaces as he swallows it, immediately going for his Coke, and he glares at his snickering fiancé.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” he grumps petulantly, taking large gulps of Coke. “That was awful, people actually _like_ that shit?””

The snickers become full-blown laughter, Jimmy doubling over in mirth. Dean tries to pout, tries to feel put out, but he can’t help the smile that takes over his face watching blue eyes sparkle and listening to that throaty laugh that he loves so much.

“Oh, I know, right?” Jimmy eventually settles, grinning brightly at him. “It tastes like baby food. I don’t know how people eat it.”

Dean’s brow furrows, and he’s confused. He has to agree about the baby food, though – he’d made the mistake of thinking that trying the stuff before he fed it to Henry would entice the little rascal into eating it. Apparently his seven-and-a-half-month-old nephew is smarter than him.

“So…” he starts, trying to work out his thoughts. “If you don’t like it, and _I_ sure as hell don’t like it, then why did you get it?”

Jimmy bites his lip, his tell that this was a prank and Dean fell for it hook, line and sinker. “I’m an asshole?” he says, like it’s a question. “I was just messing with you. Your reaction was hilarious, by the way.”

At this point, their waiter comes over bringing a try with two more dishes on it: two burgers, stacked high with meat, bacon, lettuce, tomato, and onions, the mayo nearly dripping out the edges, and large portions of seasoned fries, skins still on them.

_That_ looked more like their kind of food.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” Dean laughs, leaning back so the waiter can set the food down. He turns a playful glare on Jimmy’s grinning face.

Jimmy giggles, nose scrunched adorably, eyes crinkled. “I couldn’t help it! You always have the best disgusted face. It’s like you’re personally offended about whatever it is.”

“That shit _was_ a personal offense,” Dean argues, pulling his plate closer. The smell is mouthwatering, and he has to make a conscious effort not to start drooling. “I wouldn’t feed it to an herbivore that lives on it.”

Jimmy just shakes his head fondly, his foot nudging playfully against Dean’s leg. “Well, I apologize for offending your taste buds with the awful pasta salad. But _this._ ” He picks up his burger, turning it like he’s inspecting it, before shining blue eyes meet Dean’s again. “You might like _this._ ”

Dean smiles and leans across the table, stealing a soft, quick kiss. “I’m sure I will.”


	2. Finn/Poe (Star Wars) - #32: "It looks good on you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe thinks Finn looks good in anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: high school au, established relationship, prom season shenanigans, fluff and humor

Poe can’t contain his grin as he watches Rey drag Finn around, intermittently holding up one suit after another to his chest. She squints and tilts her head, putting some back and tossing others at him to carry as she searches for the perfect prom outfit. Finn looks like he’s having the time of his life, smiling wide and bright as he follows her like a duckling. He catches Poe’s eyes and shifts the suits he’s holding to wave from across the store, and Poe laughs, giving him a thumbs up.

They finally make their way back around to the dressing rooms where Poe had been left. Rey has that determined glint in her eyes as she points towards the rooms.

“Okay, go try them on and we’ll see what looks best,” she commands, crossing her arms.

Finn manages a salute and a “Yes, ma’am!” before scurrying into the dressing rooms, and Poe watches him go with a longing sigh.

“He had, what, six suits in his arms?” he asks, taking a seat in the chairs outside the dressing rooms next to Rey.

“Something like that,” she replies, pulling out her phone.

“We’re gonna be here all night!”

She smirks at him, nudging his leg with her show. “Are you complaining about getting a free fashion show from your boyfriend?” she teases. She holds up her phone threateningly. “Because I can always call Mom and have her—”

“No!” Poe shushes her, and they playfully fight over the phone for a minute before Rey comes away with it in victory. He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing breathlessly. “No, don’t, please! She’ll make us watch that war documentary again!”

He loves Ms. Organa like his own mother, but he’s afraid he’ll die of boredom if he has to watch any more about World War II. He falls asleep in history enough as it is.

Rey just looks smug. “Then I guess we’ll be here all night.”

Poe concedes, slumping back in his chair and facing the dressing rooms. “You presentable yet, babe?” he calls. “You didn’t get tangled in the suspenders again, did you?”

“You shut your mouth, Poe Dameron!” comes Finn’s indignant yell, and Poe snickers. A second later, one of the stall doors opens and a pouting Finn storms out, stopping in front of his boyfriend and best friend. He puts a hand on his hip and holds out his other arm. “Well?”

Poe lets out a low whistle: the suit is a sleek, traditional black, the jacket double-breasted, with silk-lined lapels. The shirt is standard white, and the tie is a deep crimson. He bites his lip, giving his boyfriend a long, heated once-over before smirking up at him.

“Mm, you look good enough to eat,” he winks, and Finn rolls his eyes, fighting embarrassment and turning to Rey.

Rey shakes her head. “Too plain,” she decides. “Next.”

Finn heads back into his stall, and Poe slumps back in his seat. “I liked it.”

“You like everything he wears,” she points out absently. “If we left it up to you, he’d go in his underwear.”

Poe has to agree with that, so he just smiles stupidly at the thought and they wait for Finn to come out again. Poe lets Rey give most of the critiquing feedback, telling Finn what works and what doesn’t, and sending him back to try on every single suit “just to be sure.”

“Go try the purple one on,” she says after the fourth suit. It’s blue with an aquamarine tie, and even Poe thinks it’s a stretch. “The one with the bowtie.” Finn disappears again, and when he comes back out a couple minutes later, Poe’s sure his chin hits the floor.

The suit is a deep royal purple number with black silk lapels and a black shirt and bowtie that puts the emphasis on the suit itself. It hugs his body beautifully, a near perfect fit like it was made for him – they’ll probably just have to take up the cuffs on his sleeves and pants a tad. It compliments his skin tone, the warm brown balanced out by the cool hue of the suit, and Poe’s sure he’s never seen anything more stunning in his life.

“Wow, Finn,” he breathes, and Finn bites his lip and ducks his head shyly, grinning. “You look…” He’s at a loss for words, and simply stares in wonder instead.

“You like?” Finn asks, turning to give them the full view of himself. “It’s really comfortable. I think I like it best.”

“Definitely,” Rey agrees, taking a picture with her phone. “I think we can do this color scheme. We’ll get Poe a shirt that matches your suit. You’ll be the hottest couple there.”

“Oh, we were gonna be that anyway,” Poe scoffs, smiling at his boyfriend. Finn smiles back, adjusting his lapels and the bowtie, playing with it nervously.

“So, you like it?” he asks again, and Poe nods, standing and walking over to him.

“It looks good on you,” he says warmly, and steals a quick kiss. “We’re definitely getting this one.”

Once Finn is back in his regular clothes and jacket, they take the suit to checkout. The cashier puts it in a complimentary garment bag as Poe pays for it, waving off Finn’s protests, and after thanking the cashier and being told “Have a nice day!” the three of them make their way out of the store and into the rest of the mall. Poe and Finn walk hand in hand while Rey texts her mom that they’re grabbing lunch in the food court before seeing a movie.

“Mom says it looks real sharp, Finn,” Rey tells them, reading her texts. She smiles at them. “She approves.”

“Three more weeks,” Poe sighs, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. “You excited?”

Finn smiles, bright and happy, throwing his arms over Rey and Poe’s shoulders as they walk towards the food court. “You know it! Now come on, guys, let’s eat! I’m starving!”


	3. Jensen/Misha (SPN RPF) - #16: "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bed is too cool, the apartment too quiet, and Misha just really misses Jensen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: rockstar au, rockstar!jensen, professor!misha, established relationship, long-distance relationship, pining and longing

With a slow sigh, Misha rolls onto his back, pursing his lips. Rain patters softly, the moon bright and full from his view of the window. He lays quietly for two more deep breaths, then throws his comforter off, resigned. The wood floors of the apartment are cool against his feet as he pads to the kitchen for some warm milk with honey.

Mug in hand, he moves through the dark apartment to the living area, seating himself on the couch and pulling his laptop to him. The brightness of the screen makes him squint, and he quietly types away while the rain continues until his phone rings.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s nearly three in the morning, but he smiles anyway when he answers.

“Mistress Matilda’s Maternity Wears,” he says brightly, “where we help you find just the outfit when you’re fit to burst. How can we help you today?”

“’Fit to burst’, really?” A deep chuckle sounds through the phone, and Misha’s grin widens. “I think that’s your weirdest one yet, babe.”

“I try,” he shrugs. He sets his laptop aside on the couch, curling his feet up under him and cradling his mug of honey milk to his chest. “It was really the only appropriate response to a call that comes in at two-forty-seven in the morning.”

Jensen sighs, the sound apologetic. “Shit, Mish, I keep forgetting my time zones. It’s not even midnight here in Cali, I didn’t even think about what time it’d be in New York. Sorry if I woke you up, babe.”

“It’s okay, Jen. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” Misha assures, sipping his milk. They share the quiet for a moment, just breathing together, before he continues softly, longingly, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Mish,” Jensen replies, voice hoarse with emotion. “Three more weeks, babe, and then I’m home for the next half year, I promise. No tour, no band rehearsals, no meet-ups, no fancy dinners with snot-nosed airbags looking for a cut – just you and me and whatever you wanna do, okay?”

A smile plays on Misha’s lips and he tucks the phone closer. “You know, I think I have a copy of the _Kama Sutra_ lying around here somewhere.” The laughter that erupts on the other end makes the ache deep within his chest loosen; god, he’s missed Jensen’s laugh. He closes his eyes to picture his smile, eyes crinkling, head thrown back, body shaking with each guffaw.

“That sounds perfect, babe,” Jensen finally manages, and Misha takes a triumphant sip of his milk. “We’ll try as many as we can.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Misha warns seriously. “I’ve been upping my yoga time; I’m _very_ flexible now.”

There’s another comfortable moment of silence between them, the rain outside _pit pat pit pat_ -ing against the windows. Misha finishes his milk, licking the last drops from his lips as he imagines it’s Jensen’s tongue instead, sliding along his bottom lip and then into his mouth as they kiss heatedly.

His chest aches again.

“What are you doing up so late anyway?” Jensen asks, breaking the silence.

Misha looks over at his laptop. The desktop has switched to the screensaver. “Grading research papers.”

“Ah. Having fun?”

“I think I have a picture of Egyptian hieroglyphs that make better arguments than my students. Hell, the second graders I used to teach make better arguments than my college level English Lit students.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jensen says sincerely, but Misha can hear his smothered chuckling and rolls his eyes.

“You mock my pain, Mr. Rock Star,” he laments, but a smile is on his lips. He reaches over to close his laptop and sets it on the coffee table, then stands and takes his empty mug to the sink. A yawn escapes him, and he rubs his eyes.

Jensen doesn’t miss it. “I’ll let you go, Mish. You need to sleep.”

“Mm,” Misha hums in agreement, padding back to their bedroom. “Okay. I’d fight you but I’m nearly asleep on my feet.” Jensen chuckles softly as Misha climbs into their bed, his side rumpled and still warm. He doesn’t think about the coolness of the other side.

“You can fight me when you’ve gotten at least 10 consecutive hours under your belt, how ‘bout that?”

“We duel at dawn,” Misha grumbles, smiling up at the ceiling, eyes heavy with fatigue, as Jensen hums.

“At dawn,” he agrees softly. “But sleep first. I’ll call you later. Love you, Mish.”

“Love you too, Jen. Come home safe to me, okay?”

“Always.”  


	4. Merlin/Arthur (BBC Merlin) - #70: "You're warm."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heater is out and it's freezing. Merlin can't hear himself think over the chatter of his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, established relationship, domestic shenanigans, fluff

Shivering _again,_ Merlin curls further into the pile of blankets he’s currently bundled up in on the couch. Of course the heater goes out when it’s absolutely freezing – there are icicles on the windows, for god’s sake! And the landlord said it’d be week before he could have someone look into it.

Merlin doesn’t think he’ll last the week if this keeps up much longer.

The telly isn’t as distracting as he’d hoped, and with a huff punctuated with chattering teeth, he shuts it off and stands with his blankets. Padding in socked feet back to the bedroom, he tosses the blankets on the bed and goes to the closet. He’s got two jumpers on already, and he pulls out the thick _I_ _♥_ _New York_ hoodie Arthur had brought him when he came back from his business trip to the States.

It helps a bit, but his fingers are nearly ice and his ears are cold, too. He digs around for a hat, pulling it down as far as it’ll go on his head, before going back to the kitchen. He puts the kettle on and pulls out the cocoa, then taps his fingers against the counter to try to warm them up until the water’s boiling. He fixes a mug for himself and one for Arthur, then carries them to the office where his boyfriend is bent over his laptop at the desk, brows furrowed in concentration.

He sets one mug down by Arthur’s elbow, looking over his shoulder at the spreadsheet open on the screen. Arthur blinks and looks over at the cup, then up at Merlin with a grateful smile.

“What seems to be the problem?” Merlin asks, taking a sip of the cocoa. He hums as the warm liquid slides down his throat and into the rest of his body.

Arthur snorts as he takes a sip of his own drink. “Sales and revenue aren’t matching. We look to be selling more than we’re making. Again.”

“You didn’t type in the wrong numbers again, did you?” Merlin teases, earning himself a scowl.

“It took me nearly a week to figure it out!” Arthur says heatedly, pouting at the screen. “Do you know how many lines of this I had to meticulously go through? How many things have the same bloody price? It’s a nightmare when human error is the reason nothing looks right.”

“So you admit you make mistakes, then?”

Merlin dances back with a laugh as Arthur tries to swat him. He huffs petulantly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

“You’re no help,” Arthur groans. “Don’t you have television to watch or something?”

“Nothing on,” Merlin replies, setting his mug of cocoa on the desk. “Besides, it’s freezing! Can’t concentrate on anything when I can’t hear myself think over the sound of my chattering teeth.”

Arthur looks him over, just now noticing his many layers, and snorts again. “You look ridiculous.”

“You look like a prat.”

Merlin lets out a girlish squeak as Arthur jumps up and practically tackles him, wrapping him in his arms and picking him up to carry him to the bedroom. He ignores Merlin’s demands to put him down, and they end up collapsed on the bed, laughing breathlessly through the tickle fight that ensues.

When they calm down, Merlin snuggles up to his boyfriend, burying his nose against Arthur’s neck with a content sigh.

“Gods above, Merlin!” Arthur exclaims, flinching away. “You’re freezing!”

“Mm, you’re warm,” Merlin hums, nuzzling closer. “My own personal heater.”

Arthur chuckles, pulling him closer before pulling the blankets Merlin had left on the foot of the bed up over them. “You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” In contradiction to his words, he wraps his arms and legs around Arthur so he can’t go anywhere.

“Can’t concentrate on anything when my idiot boyfriend is freezing his arse off now, can I?” Arthur sighs dramatically, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s forehead.

Merlin just smiles and snuggles closer.


	5. Dean/Cas (SPN) - #1: "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides they need to take a road trip. Cas sees no reason to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, established relationship, detective!dean, teacher!cas, road trip, fluff

It’s a spontaneous decision. Cas is curled up on the couch and working on his dissertation for his theology doctorate when the door to the apartment opens with a little more excited force than usual. He glances up from his laptop, glasses sliding down his nose, as his boyfriend hangs up his jacket and tosses his keys into their keyring bowl. Dean kicks off his boots and pads to the kitchen, and Cas watches bemusedly as he hums to himself while examining the contents of their fridge.

“Good day at work?” he ventures, turning his attention back to his work.

“ _Great_ day,” Dean corrects, shutting the fridge. Cas can hear him moving around the kitchen, opening the Tupperware of leftovers from dinner with Kate the night before. “Guess who got that raise he was promised?”

“Mm, was it Victor?” Cas muses, and laughs at Dean’s insulted huff.

“Please. If Vic gets any more raises, he’ll be swimmin’ in the money he makes.” The microwave beeps, and then there’s the sound of silverware being sifted through. “But no, smartass, Vic did not get a raise. I, however – Dean Winchester, most badass detective to ever walk the earth – _did_.”

Cas smiles up at Dean as he takes a seat beside him on the couch, plate and glass of milk in hand.

“That’s wonderful, Dean,” Cas says, leaning in to steal a kiss. “You work hard, you deserve it.”

“Damn straight,” Dean agrees. He holds his plate close, stabbing at the mashed potatoes and moving the bite through excess gravy. “I also have a bunch of vacation days saved. You know what this means?”

“What?”

“Road trip,” Dean says decisively, punctuating his statement with a large bite of potato and chicken.

Cas looks at his boyfriend, fondness pulling a smile across his lips, before turning back to his computer. “When do we leave?”

They pack up a couple of duffle bags that night and climb into the Impala early that morning. Cas calls the high school and tells them a family emergency has come up with Sam and that he’ll be gone for the week. Dean puts on his sunglasses, turns the music up, and they take off listening to Free, the sun just starting to break the horizon line in front of them.

They don’t have a set destination in mind, so they just cruise the highways, stopping wherever seems interesting, or when they’re hungry. Cas is in charge of the map, and he keeps his feet propped up on the dash while they drive, head hanging out the window to enjoy the late spring air. Dean sings along to his tapes when the radio cuts out, loud and carefree, his voice like whiskey. Cas falls asleep to it with a smile on his face and their hands twined on the seat between them.

When he’s yanked out of floating between awake and sleep by the telltale sound of tires against the shoulder, he sits up and stretches, looking over at his boyfriend questioningly. His face softens into a smile when he sees Dean blinking rapidly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The sky is splashed in orange-red and pink, the sun setting for the day.

“Sorry to wake you, Cas,” Dean says apologetically, voice rough with fatigue.

“Pull over,” Cas says gently, leaning over to kiss along Dean’s jaw. “Let me drive for a while.”

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean protests, but it’s halfhearted and he’s slowing down anyway.

“I’m sure you are,” Cas says, kissing beneath Dean’s ear, “but you’ve been driving almost thirteen hours now. You’re nearly asleep at the wheel as it is.”

Dean doesn’t argue, a yawn saying all there is to say, and pulls onto the shoulder on purpose this time. Cas places one more kiss on his cheek, and they switch places, Cas taking the driver’s side and Dean curling up on passenger’s side. He’s out before Cas even gets the Impala up to the minimum speed limit, and Cas smiles.

They finish out the trip in Palo Alto, surprising Sam and Eileen by showing up unannounced. Sam is overjoyed to see his brother, and they go out for food and beers to celebrate for the hell of it. Sam says he’s working on a big case that he has to keep hush-hush about, and Eileen glows with pride when she tells them how her ASL classes have nearly doubled in attendance and interest in the last semester.

Cas and Dean stay with them two days before heading back home to Lebanon, and when they stagger into their apartment, they drop their bags at the door and immediately head for the bedroom, collapsing in their bed with groans and sighs.

Dean curls into Cas, pulling him closer and nuzzling his neck, pressing soft kisses there. Cas hums contently, running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“I enjoyed that, Dean,” he says with a grin up at the ceiling. Dean hums in agreement.

“I think we needed that,” Dean comments, propping up on his elbow. He grins down at Cas, leaning over him to press their lips together, kissing him deep and gentle. There’s a soft look in his eyes when he pulls away, carding his fingers through Cas’ hair. “But I’m glad to be home.”

Cas hums, hand running up Dean’s arm and to his neck, massaging the skin there and eliciting a grateful groan. “I’m always home,” he says quietly, and leans up to kiss Dean again.

“You’re a sap,” Dean murmurs against his lips.

“You love me anyway.” Cas flips them over, settling over his boyfriend with a mischievous smile. Dean laughs huskily, biting his lip, hands settling firmly on Cas’ hips.

“Guilty as charged.”


	6. Jim/Bones (Star Trek) - #69: "I bought you a ticket."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wants tickets to _Hamilton_ , but Bones won't even let him get a full sentence out about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: college au, friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff

“Ooh, Bones!”

“No.”

“What? Why—”

“No.”

“But I haven’t even—”

“Still no.”

“ _Boooones_ ,” Jim whines, pouting over at his roommate from his place at the computer. Bones turns another page in the magazine he’s reading, expression bored. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet, how can you say ‘no’?”

“Because I know _you,_ Jim,” Bones sighs, flipping a page. “Whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”

“But you don’t even know what it is!” Jim protests.

“Doesn’t matter.” Bones closes the magazine, tossing it to the end of his bed and standing. He stretches, and Jim unashamedly stares at the skin that’s exposed with the movement, waggling his eyebrows suggestively when Bones looks over at him and smirking at Bones’ ensuing eye roll. “I have been through this enough to know it is not something I ever want to know about, or deal with, or whatever. No.”

Jim pouts again, turning dejectedly back to the screen where Ticketmaster® is pulled up, a calendar of show times for _Hamilton_ displayed. He stares at it for a moment before exiting out of the browser and slumping in his seat. He’s playing up the kicked puppy look as much as he can, because he knows that sooner or later Bones will cave.

When a week passes and nothing is mentioned, Jim begins to think maybe it’s not working as well as usual.

When a _month_ passes and Bones still hasn’t brought anything up about it, despite Jim’s pointed looks at the computer and subtle hints about musicals here and there, Jim thinks Bones has finally found his immunity to Jim’s begging and wheedling.

Three months pass without mention of anything, and it’s the day before Jim’s birthday. Jim has been pouting and moping around the dorm for nearly a month and a half now, and he knows Bones has had it up to here with him, but he can’t help it. Shut down so completely, and it’s over something that’s actually reputable and _educational!_ Jim is baffled almost as much as he’s disheartened that Bones hadn’t even given him the chance to show him what he wanted.

When he gets back from classes that night, dragging his feet as he enters the dorm and tossing his bag at the foot of his bed, he stops at the sight of a long, slender box, no wider than his palm, sitting innocently on his pillow. He eyes it for a minute, then walks over to pick it up, turning it over and shaking it to see if he can guess what’s in it.

“Why don’t you just open the damn thing?”

Jim turns on his heel at Bones’ gruff drawl. He’s standing with his arms crossed at the foot of Jim’s bed, expression unamused except for the light red tint Jim can see in his cheeks, and Jim marvels at the blush for a full minute before Bones clears his throat and throws a pointed look at the box.

“Well?”

“Did you get me a present, Bonsey?” Jim teases, grinning widely. “How sweet!”

Bones rolls his eyes, but it looks a whole lot fonder than Jim’s ever seen. “Just open it, you infant. Or give it back, I can always give it to someone else.”

“What? No!” Jim grips the box tighter, holding it to his chest as if to protect it. “It’s mine, you got it for me!” He looks down at it. “What is it?”

Jim can practically _hear_ the eye roll Bones gives him. “Well, I guess you’ll find out when you _open the goddamn box, Jim._ ”

Huffing like he’s oh so put upon, Jim jiggles the box and lid apart, carefully separating one part from the other so as not to damage whatever lies inside. He fits the bottom into the top as he looks into it to see what Bones got him, and he frowns at what he finds. With gentle fingers, he pulls out the paper – _papers,_ plural - inside, reading them quickly, and then looking up at Bones wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Bones?” he says weakly, looking back at his gift. “What…?”

Large, calloused hands wrap around his gently, and Jim looks up to see Bones smiling softly at him.

“I might not be the genius here, but I’m certainly no idiot, Jim,” Bones says simply. “I know how to check the internet history.”

Jim swallows around the lump in his throat, looking back at the tickets in his hand: one for the January fourth showing of _Hamilton_ at the Richard Rogers Theatre in New York, and the other a plane ticket for an early morning non-stop flight from San Francisco to New York.

“So, you…” Jim doesn’t know what to say.

“I bought you a ticket for your birthday, yeah,” Bones finishes. “Well, I bought _us_ tickets, ‘cause as much as I hate flyin’ I can’t let you go off to New York by your lonesome.” He chuckles, gazing at Jim fondly with soft eyes full of emotion. “You’d get lost or eat somethin’ that you’re allergic to and no one’d be there to take care of your idiot genius ass.”

Jim manages a laugh despite being choked up at the gesture and throws his arms around Bones, pulling him into a hug and burying his face in Bones’ neck. “I don’t know what to say, Bones. This is… Thank you so much.”

“I could tell it meant a lot to ya.” Jim feels Bones shrug, but his grip on Jim doesn’t lessen. “You can imagine my surprise when I checked that history and saw it was for this musical of all things, and not some alien dildo or something.”

“Now that you mention it…” Jim starts, and then laughs at Bones’ groan.

“ _Jim,_ ” he warns, and Jim just holds him tighter.

“You’re the best, Bones,” Jim says sincerely, nuzzling against him. He’s comfortable in Bones’ arms, and he almost doesn’t realize it when he starts placing small kisses along Bones’ stubble-covered jaw.

Bones just hums, pressing a kiss to Jim’s temple. “You flatter me, darlin’. It’s just tickets.”

Jim scoffs, offended. “They’re tickets to _Hamilton,_ Bones!”

“Whatever you say, Jim.”

Jim pouts up at him, and Bones lifts a challenging eyebrow, and they stare each other down for a minute before Jim caves and suddenly they’re kissing, the tension between them dissipating and settling into something calmer. They share deep, lazy kisses like they’ve been doing it for years, and Jim’s wearing a goofy smile when they part.

“Best birthday present _ever._ ”


	7. Han/Leia (Star Wars) - #82: "I was in the neighborhood."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia just wants her boys to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, estranged relationship, hurt/comfort

A soft roll of thunder stirs Leia from her intense focus on the documents in front of her, and she looks to the window. Grey clouds cover the expanse of sky she can see, and small, light raindrops begin hitting the glass. She sits back, removing her glasses.

It’s always raining these days.

Knocking on her office door pulls her attention from the weather, and she straightens in her seat.

“Ms. Organa?” Her assistant peeks her head into the room. “It’s nearly five, ma’am. Are you staying late tonight?”

Leia shakes her head, pushing up from the desk to stand. “No, I was just finishing up. You can go home, I’ll lock up and be right out.”

Her assistant nods and closes the door behind her, and Leia sighs. She gathers her work slowly, pausing to gaze wistfully at the photo on her desk: three bright, smiling faces looking at the camera, party hats and everything. She smiles to herself, still able to hear a child’s squealing laughter and the deep, rumbling chuckle of a man.

She slips into her coat and grabs her umbrella as she turns off lights and leaves. Outside, the rain has picked up marginally, and she hurries over to the café across the street. Finn, the barista, serves her usual coffee with a bright smile, throwing in a free danish, and Leia thanks him with a larger tip than she normally gives. She enjoys the treat on her way to the parking garage, and tosses the napkin away before getting into her car.

Soft rock plays on the radio, and she hums along quietly as she drives home. The rain has picked up even more by the time she pulls into her driveway, a familiar truck that she hasn’t seen in years parked in its old space. She hurries inside to avoid becoming soaked, inhaling the smell of homemade soup, and a nostalgic smile crosses her face despite it all.

She shucks her coat onto the rack and slips out of her shoes as she moves into the house. Her stereo is on, a slow song playing quietly. She enters the kitchen, pausing at the breakfast bar where two bowls sit, still steaming. She looks over at the stove, where he stands filling Tupperware containers with the remaining soup. He looks over a heartbeat later, and they watch each other, only the sound of the rain against the windows and the song playing in the background filling the silence between them.

A long moment passes, and Han speaks first. “It’s chicken noodle.” He goes back to putting the rest of it away. “You still like that, right?”

“I never stopped,” Leia tells him truthfully, slipping up into one of the chairs at the bar. The aroma of the soup makes her smile. “It always did make me feel better on a rainy day.”

Han chuckles, putting the containers aside and turning to face her. There’s a sad half-smile on his face. “Then I’d say this is a good day for it.”

Leia hums in agreement, and they watch each other again. There’s tension between them – always has been, really, but it’s even more prominent now, and Leia wishes it wasn’t so suffocating.

“What are you doing here, Han?” she asks eventually. The question burns in her throat, like she doesn’t want to ask but has to because that’s just the way it is.

With a soft huff, Han shrugs carelessly and rubs a hand over his neck. “I was in the neighborhood, I guess” he replies, not quite looking at her. “Just thought I’d… I don’t know. Check in. See how you’re doin’.”

“Have you heard from him?” she asks, getting through the bullshit, through the forced pleasantries, the small talk. “If you wanted to check in for my sake, you would have done it sooner. Have you heard from him?”

Han runs his hand over his face, his shoulders dropping their tension, and he shakes his head. “I found him,” he says, but it doesn’t sound reassuring, doesn’t sound happy, doesn’t sound _good._ “But he’s… dammit, Leia, he’s in a gang now! He’s with those… those ‘First Order’ hooligans or something! Running around with them and, and…”

Leia looks away, swallowing. She was afraid of that. “Is he okay, at least?”

Han snorts, hands on his hips as he gazes out the window. “He’s alive, I guess. That’s probably all we can ask for at this point.”

It probably is, but her heart aches anyway, imagining her baby boy out hurting people or getting hurt. She just wants her boy to come home. Looking at Han, she amends herself: she wants her _boys_ to come home.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until warm hands are on her cheeks, brushing her tears away. She looks up at Han’s soft gaze, filled with sadness and regret and hurt and love, and she leans into him. He wraps his arms around her, and she breathes in the smells of leather and oil.

“I just want our baby back, Han,” she whispers into his chest. His hand runs soothingly through her hair.

“Me too, Leia,” he says quietly. “Me too. I’m sorry for drivin’ him away.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t—”

“We were going through a rough patch, like everyone does.” She leans back, looking him in the eye. “Don’t blame yourself for this. These are his choices, as much as I wish he wouldn’t make them. We did everything we were supposed to.”

Han looks away, but tucks her head back under his chin. “I just wish it had been enough.”

And there it is.

Leia’s shoulders slump, and she leans heavily into his chest. “Me too.”

Han rubs her back, presses a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s eat. The soup’s better warm.”

“Will you leave?” She has to ask. Everything in her is hoping he won’t.

“I can stay tonight.”

They eat the soup on the couch, curled together while they watch mindless tv shows. Leia keeps her head on his chest, falling asleep as she listens to the steady beat of his heart.

When she wakes, the house is empty except for a reheated bowl of soup and a note:

_I’m gonna find him and bring him home, Leia. I don’t care what it takes. I love you._

She smiles to herself and whispers, “I know.”


	8. Dean/Jimmy (SPN) - #14: "Can I have this dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's not usually into basketball, but he loves watching Dean play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: high school au, friends to lovers, first kiss, promposal, jock!dean, nerd!jimmy, fluff

It’s halftime and the Lawrence Angels are up twenty points against the Wichita Devils. Jimmy squirms in his seat on the bleachers, excitement and adrenaline running through him. The energy in the gym is palpable, and Jimmy is sweating beneath his coat as the temperature rises with so many bodies packed into one space, shouting and cheering and booing as the basketball teams take the ball across the court.

Of course, Jimmy’s got good reason to cheer: Dean Winchester – his best friend and not so secret crush (because literally _everybody_ except Dean knows) – is out on the court, totally dominating and riling up the fans even more. He catches Jimmy’s eyes after sinking his shots, winking and pumping his fist in victory and just being a general dork about it all, and Jimmy can’t help the silly grin on his own face.

He’s still catching his breath when the cheerleaders make their way to the center of the court, lining up with posters in their hands. People take notice and start murmuring about what’s going on, the general consensus being that one of the players is asking their girlfriend to prom. Jimmy can’t help the unbidden thought that it’s _Dean_ asking his crush out, that his crush is _Jimmy_ and—

Jimmy shakes himself, trying to tamp down on the hope so the disappointment doesn’t completely crush him. His interest is piqued, though, when Michael Bublé’s _Save the Last Dance for Me_ begins playing – it’s Jimmy’s guilty pleasure song, one’s he’s admitted to Dean that he wants to dance to with his significant other and have it be Their Song – and his pulse picks up, his heart beating quicker as the first cheerleader holds up her poster:

_JIMMY NOVAK_

People’s heads are turning, seeking out the person to go with the name, but Jimmy barely notices them, his attention on the next posters going up:

_THIS IS YOUR SONG_

_BUT CAN WE_

_MAKE IT OURS?_

A nudge on his arm pulls his attention from the posters to the person standing by him, and he looks up with watery eyes at Dean Winchester, who is now wearing a button-up shirt and slacks, smiling softly and holding a single red tulip – Jimmy’s favorite.

“Hey, Jimmy…” Dean starts, then chuckles, reaching out to brush the tears that are now falling down his cheeks. He gently cups Jimmy’s face, and Jimmy leans into it, smiling wide.

Dean smiles back, continuing, “I know you’re saving this song for someone special, and, if you want, I’d like to be that someone. I want this song to be Our Song, Jimmy. I want to hold you while we dance to it at prom, in the middle of the dance floor while everyone else watches and is jealous that I’m dancing with such a perfect person.”

Jimmy chokes on a laugh, and Dean squeezes his hand.

“What do ya say, Jimmy?” Dean holds out the tulip, and Jimmy takes it delicately. “Can I have this dance?”

Jimmy nods, unable to form words, and throws his arms around Dean, pulling him close. Cheers and coos go up and Dean squeezes him tight, and he only pulls back for a heartbeat before their lips meet and Dean is kissing him and Jimmy melts, kissing back for all he’s worth and more, heart hammering and light-headed and floating and so happy he’s sure it’s all a dream.

When they part, Jimmy is panting, and Dean is smiling like he’s just been given the most precious treasure in the world.

“C’mon,” Dean says, taking his hand and interlocking their fingers, and he pulls Jimmy out of the bleachers toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

“But what about the game?” Jimmy asks, though he goes along willingly, not too concerned.

“Coach already knew, so he had a replacement ready.”

“Presumptuous much?” Jimmy teases, but he squeezes their hands to let Dean know he doesn’t mind in the least.

Dean smiles over at him, stopping their trek to the parking lot and pulling Jimmy close to kiss him again.

“I had a pretty good feeling about this.”

And, well. Jimmy has a pretty good feeling about it, too.


	9. Dean/Michael (SPN) - #10: "I'm sorry for your loss."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael helps Dean and Sam throw Lucifer back in the Cage, and Michael and Dean are left with only each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: canon-divergent, alternate s5 finale, vessel!dean, canon character deaths, hurt/comfort

It’s a strange thing, Dean thinks, to watch his body move but not be the one in control. It’s not even out-of-body, because he’s definitely still there, just… in the backseat. While an archangel makes all the decisions.

Through his own eyes, but not, Dean observes as Michael uses the Horsemen’s rings to open the portal to the Cage. He wishes he could look over to his left, where Sam’s on the ground, restraining Lucifer through sheer willpower. He smiles to himself, despite it all.

That’s his Sammy.

Michael turns to face their brothers, and Dean feels the hurt and agony in the archangel’s grace mirrored in his own soul. He wants this about as much as Dean does, but they’re out of options – Bobby’s dead and Cas is nothing more than molecules; Dean’s soul aches and he pushes the image of his best friend exploding right in front of him away.

Instead, he focuses on his brother – his baby brother, his Sammy. Sam pushes himself off the ground, teeth grit as he fights with the devil in his head, and staggers over to the hole now in the middle of the cemetery. He’s sweating with exertion, and Dean can see the veins in his temple popping out. He looks into the hole and swallows, long hair whipping into his face from the wind being kicked up, and turns to Michael – to Dean.

“You’ll make sure he’s okay, right?” Sam asks, voice strained.

Michael nods. “Of course, Sam. I’ll watch over him.”

Dean would be offended that they think he can’t take of himself if he didn’t feel like he was losing half of himself, watching his very reason for living about to throw himself into an eternity in Hell with Satan.

As it is, he throws up a brave façade and rolls his eyes – or, well, whatever the soul equivalent is. Michael’s mouth twitches, so Dean takes it as a hollow victory.

Sam nods, satisfied, and looks right into Michael’s eyes, like he’s looking at _Dean._

“Don’t do anything stupid, jerk,” Sam says, eyes watery.

_Bitch,_ Dean thinks, and it’s another strange thing to feel like he’s crying even though his cheeks are completely dry.

Sam turns to the hole and takes one last deep breath, then jumps. He doesn’t even scream.

The hole immediately starts closing, the earth swallowing up the devil and his vessel. In the blink of an eye, everything is back in place, and the only indication that anything even happened is the rings lying in the dead grass, and the dead body of a beloved uncle lying twenty feet away. If he had lungs, Dean’s not sure he’d be breathing.

_Goddammit, Sammy,_ Dean laughs hollowly, and he feels a brush of soothing grace, full of sympathy and hurt and loss and grief, against his soul.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Michael says, staring at the ground where their brothers were engulfed. He takes a breath and looks over at Bobby’s body.

_He… he’s at peace, right?_ Dean can’t help but ask.

“Yes,” Michael answers. “His soul is in Heaven, at rest.”

_And… and Cas?”_

An intensified sense of loss and regret and grief washes over Dean, and he has his answer.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

_You can’t…?_

“It’s… ill-advised,” Michael answers vaguely, but Dean gets flashes of chaos and destruction as a result of an angel playing God, and he decides to let it go.

For now.

“What will you do now?” Michael asks. He turns his face to the wind as a breeze picks up, and if Dean concentrates, it’s like he can feel it himself.

_I don’t know. Give Bobby a proper burial first, I guess. Then get blackout drunk._

“That’s not healthy.”

_It’s human,_ Dean replies simply. _It’s all I know how to do._ Michael doesn’t say anything, but Dean knows he doesn’t approve. _What about you? What’re you gonna do now that the Big Finale is done?_

Michael remains thoughtfully quiet for a long time before he answers. “I suppose… I go on as I have, leading Heaven in the absence of our Father.”

_Is that what you wanna do?_

“It’s my duty.”

_But do you_ wanna _do it?_ Dean presses, an urgent sense of… _something_ pressing in on him. There’s a hole in him now, and he’s man enough to admit that if no one’s there to stop him, he’s going to fill it with Jack Daniels until he drowns or dies of alcohol poisoning. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to be alone. _Maybe you could… I don’t know, hang around a while?_

“… Would you like me to?”

_You_ did _promise Sammy you’d watch out for me,_ Dean jokes, though it falls pretty flat. _We ain’t got nothin’ anymore, man. Our brothers are in the Cage, the apocalypse is over, there can’t be that much for you to do up there._

Michael’s silence is all the answer Dean needs.

_C’mon, man. Maybe… Maybe this’ll be a good thing. Better than me drinkin’ myself to death, or you hidin’ away from the rest of the Host._

“Okay,” Michael agrees. “Okay.”

Dean feels his soul relax, an unnamed tension seeping out.

He’s not going to be alone.

He won’t be alone.

_Okay._


	10. Jensen/Misha (SPN RPF) - #66: "Stay over."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen really doesn't want to go home - he'd rather stay with Misha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au - not actors, established relationship, domestic fluff

Jensen’s nearly falling asleep as the movie ends, the credits the only light in the otherwise dark living room. He feels Misha shift beside him, standing to take the popcorn bowl back to the kitchen. He stretches and rubs his eyes, glancing at his phone to see it’s nearly one in the morning. He should probably get home.

Instead of acting on that thought, he smiles when Misha climbs back onto the couch, snuggling up against his side, and Jensen drops a kiss to his head.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” he murmurs against Misha’s temple. Misha had insisted on fixing him dinner for his birthday, and they’d had some of the best steak Jensen’s ever had, washed down with cold beer, and then they’d put on a movie while they cuddled. It was exactly what Jensen wanted. “Thanks, Mish.”

Misha hums contently. “You had a good birthday, then?”

“The best.” Jensen tilts his boyfriend’s head up from his shoulder so he can kiss him, slow and deep. “I got everything I wanted.”

“I haven’t even given you your present yet.”

“Sure you have.” Jensen kisses him again, smiling at the adorably confused expression he’s given. “ _You,_ you idiot.”

Misha groans, rolling his eyes and hitting Jensen on the shoulder while Jensen laughs.

“That was disgustingly cheesy,” Misha complains, trying to turn away, but Jensen holds him tight, keeping him close and brushing kisses against the nape of his neck.

“Mm, but you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, but it’s a fond, loving sound. He turns to look at Jensen, smiling, and steals another kiss.

They remain curled together on the couch, sharing kisses and ignoring the rest of the world, just soaking up each other’s warmth and tender touches. There’s a niggling in the back of his mind, though, and Jensen knows he should leave, knows he needs to get home so he can get some sleep before having to be at work, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to extricate himself from Misha’s hold and leave his warmth and comfort behind.

They’ve only been dating three months and already _home_ is Misha’s arms.

Eventually, Jensen finds the mind to pull away, though he’s more than reluctant. He continues to steal kisses anyway. “I should go. I have an early day.”

“Mm, I don’t want you to.”

“I really don’t either.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Jensen’s neck, Misha presses close, pinning Jensen to the couch. Jensen doesn’t mind, simply running his hands over his back, massaging and rubbing absently, just feeling how their bodies fit together.

“Stay over,” Misha murmurs after a moment, trailing kisses over Jensen’s jaw.

Jensen holds him tighter. “Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t throw out that change of clothes you left here. And you won’t have to go all the way home just to have to turn around and pass here on your way to work.” Misha nuzzles closer, burying his nose in Jensen’s neck. “I want you to stay tonight.”

Jensen hums, inhaling the smell of coconut shampoo and laundry detergent. His eyes are drooping again, and he answers a sleepy “Okay” before pushing Misha up so they can head to the bedroom. They strip down quietly, and crawl under the sheets together, Misha immediately curling up against Jensen.

His last thought before dropping off is that he wouldn’t mind going to bed with Misha every night.


	11. Dean/Cas (SPN) - #4: "Come here. Let me fix it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dean and Cas' 5-year anniversary, and Dean has a special question for Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, established relationship, anniversary dinner, proposal, schmoop and fluff

Dean is just stepping out of the bathroom, the steam from his shower billowing out behind him, when his phone rings. He smiles and hums along to _Whole Lotta Love_ as he picks it up from the dresser and accepts the call, putting it on speaker before tossing it on the bed.

“Hey, babe,” he greets, taking the towel from around his waist to run it over his hair. “Just couldn’t wait to talk to me?”

Cas chuckles softly on the other end. “Always, Dean. But I actually called for a reason.”

“I figured.” Dean drops the towel in their hamper and goes to the closet, pulling out his suit for the night. “What do you need?”

“The meeting has run extremely late,” Cas sighs, tone annoyed, and Dean hears him shuffling papers on his end. “We’re nearly done, but I’m not going to make it home to change before our reservations.” Looking at the clock, Dean agrees; their reservation is in an hour, and the time it would take for Cas to come home, change, and for them to head to the restaurant from home is about ten minutes too long. “I need you to bring my suit when you pick me up. I can change on the way over.”

Dean lets out a laugh on a puff of air, buckling his belt before picking up his shirt. “Sure thing, Cas.” He buttons up as he goes back to the closet. “Any specific tie you want with it?”

“The blue one, maybe?”

“That matches your eyes?” Dean teases, pulling out the proper suit and looking at Cas’ collection of ties. Reds, blues, greens, polka dots, stripes, bee-patterned – a whole rack is dedicated to them, and Dean fingers through the blues for the bold cerulean silk one that he’d given Cas for their third anniversary two years ago.

“Exactly that one,” Cas agrees, smile in his voice. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Not a problem, Cas. See you in thirty?”

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The call disconnects and Dean finishes getting dressed, choosing the forest green satin tie Cas always says brings out his own eyes. He straightens his cuffs and slips into his shoes, puts his wallet, phone, and keys into his pocket, and then hesitates only a second before going to his nightstand and shifting through his shit for the unassuming box carefully hidden within.

He holds the velvet box in his palm, weighing it, lifting the lid to look at the simple silver band tucked neatly into it. He can just make out the delicately engraved inscription on the inside: _forever yours._

Smiling, Dean closes the ring box gently and puts it in his pocket, then grabs his coat and Cas’ suit and heads out to the Impala.

The drive to Cas’ office is mostly uninterrupted by traffic, and Dean makes good time. When he pulls up in front of the building, Cas is coming out the doors, smiling and waving at him. Dean rolls his window down, leaning out to meet Cas in a quick kiss before Cas climbs into the backseat.

“Thank you so much, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean glances in the rearview to see him shrugging out of his coat and current suit jacket. “I started needlessly stressing about how I was going to change when Zachariah took the floor.”

Dean chuckles, signalling to change lanes to get on the highway. “You need something for that headache?”

“I’m fine, Dean, but thank you.”

Five minutes later, Dean has to avoid being kicked in the head as Cas climbs over the seats, sliding into the passenger’s side with a grunt. Dean looks over at him and smiles, eyeing his wild, disheveled hair and flushed cheeks; he reaches over to run his fingers through Cas’ thick hair, enjoying the softness, and Cas hums contentedly, leaning into the touch.

They make good time to the restaurant, and find a decent parking space in the next lot over. The Roadhouse is an extremely popular dinner date place, and is nearly always fully booked – reservations are practically the only way to get in. Luckily, Dean and Cas know – or, in their case, are family to – the right people.

Standing in the front to wait for their table to open, Dean looks over at Cas again, and can’t help laughing when he sees him struggling to properly knot his tie.

“Come here,” he chuckles, batting Cas’ hands away to take hold of the strip of fabric. “Let me fix it.”

Cas huffs petulantly but complies, lifting his chin to make it easier. “I am twenty-eight goddamn years old, I should be able to do this by myself by now,” he says with a pout.

Dean just laughs again. “But then I wouldn’t have to do it for you,” he points out, expertly doing up a Windsor knot. He smooths the tie down, letting his hand linger against Cas’ chest as he leans in to press their lips together. Cas sighs and melts against him, returning the kiss with a smile.

“True,” Cas agrees when they pull apart, smoothing his hand over Dean’s tie, and then laying his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, pulling him close. “I do enjoy your hands on me.”

Dean snickers, pressing a kiss to Cas’ temple, and they slightly sway in place together while they wait. Five minutes later, Ellen – doing hostess duties for the night – gestures for them and they’re seated at their favorite table by the window. Jo comes around immediately with wine and appetizers.

“Happy anniversary, guys,” she says, pouring their glasses. “You want the usual or you thinking about splurging even more tonight?”

Dean looks to Cas, who just shrugs. “I think we’ll keep it simple tonight. I’m really in the mood for that Porterhouse.” Cas nods along, and Jo smiles.

“I’ll get that right out, guys.”

The food is fantastic as always, and Dean and Cas laugh as they tell stories about their days – the crazy discussions Dean’s Lit students got into and how half the people in Cas' meeting were doing crosswords and Sudoku puzzles during Zachariah’s presentation. They shamelessly play footsie under the table, and Dean feels his cheeks warming with laughter, his shoulders loosening as he enjoys his evening with the man he loves more than anyting.

He doesn’t forget the little box in his pocket, and as they finish dessert – a triple-layer chocolate mousse cake with extra strawberries because Cas loves to dip them in the melted sauce – Dean sets his wine aside and looks at Cas, blue eyes shining and gummy smile lighting up his face. He touches his pocket, reassuring himself that the box is still there.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks out of his reverie, smiling at Cas’ titled head. “Sorry, Cas, I just… I was just thinking.”

“About what?” Cas asks, setting his fork aside.

With an amazed huff, Dean runs a hand over his jaw. “Five years, Cas. We’ve been together for _five years._ ” He shakes his head increadulously, smile wide. “I never thought that’d be me, you know?”

Cas smiles back. “I’m glad it is,” he says softly, and Dean flushes slightly under the absolute love in his gaze.

“I’m glad it is too,” Dean agrees, reaching into his pocket, “and I’m hoping it’ll still be me in ten years, twenty, as long as I can make it, because I wanna be together with you forever.”

He slips from his seat, coming to kneel next to Cas’ chair. Cas has straightened in his seat, mouth falling open as Dean holds out the small black box.

“Dean…” A tear runs down Cas’ cheek, and Dean reaches up to brush it away, letting his hand cup Cas’.

“What do you say, Cas?” Dean asks, voice rough, and he’s fighting tears himself. “Marry me?”

Cas nods, and Dean feels a weight on his shoulders lift, a tight spot in his chest loosen, and he pulls the ring out of the box. Cas holds his hand out, trembling faintly, and Dean presses a kiss to his palm before sliding the ring onto his third finger, the fit perfect.

Dean grins up at him, and Cas grins back, pulling him up for a kiss.

“Yes,” Cas whispers agaisnt Dean’s lips, and Dean faintly registers applause. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you. I love you.”

And Dean’s never felt happier.


	12. Cas/Jimmy (SPN) - #34: "That's okay, I bought two."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy comes home with a new sweater from a Foreigner concert, and, surprisingly, Cas likes it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: high school au - cas and jimmy are twins, fluff and humor, implied deanjimstiel, twincest / incest cw
> 
> author's note: the content warning is only there for the overall ambiguity of cas and jimmy's relationship; it's not explicitly incestuous, but it's not necessarily strictly platonic, either.

Jimmy enters his room still humming along to _Hot Blooded_ , tossing the bag of merchandise he'd bought at the Foreigner concert onto his bed. Cas looks up from the Calculus textbook and notes spread out in front of him on his own bed, pencil tucked behind his ear.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, lips curling into a smile and moving his foot as Jimmy flops onto the end of the bed.

“It was great!” Jimmy replies, smiling back. “Dean and I were right above everything, and it was awesome! Those seats were amazing! How did you get those?”

Cas just shrugs, setting his homework aside. “I have my sources,” he answers enigmatically, folding his legs under him. Jimmy moves up the bed, laying his head in his twin’s lap so Cas can run his fingers through his hair. He lightly tugs at the hem of Jimmy’s sweater. “Did you get this at the concert?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy looks down at his chest to the Foreigner logo above an artfully cracked and faded album design. He pulls at his sleeves, long enough to cover his hands. “Figured since this is their last tour I'd splurge a little on merch, so I got this. You should've seen Dean, though – he bought, like, three copies of each poster they had, and about five different shirts!” Jimmy laughs. “I think he spent almost two hundred dollars today!”

Cas grins too, one hand running gently through Jimmy's hair and the other fingering the neckline of his sweater. “I like it,” he compliments appreciatively, which surprises Jimmy; normally, Cas turns his nose up at the band merch his brother brings home. “It feels really soft.”

“It is,” Jimmy agrees, eyeing his brother suspiciously. “I didn't know you liked Foreigner, though.”

“I don’t _dislike_ them,” Cas evades with another shrug, absently tugging on Jimmy’s hair. “I might have to steal the sweater though, and you probably won’t get it back. Seriously, it’s _really_ soft.” He leans over, burying his face in Jimmy’s neck and rubbing his cheek against the sweater, humming in contentment.

“That’s okay,” Jimmy chuckles, amused at his twin. “I bought two.”

“You bought _two_?”

Shrugging, Jimmy bumps his head against Cas’. “It _may_ have definitely for sure been an impulse buy. Figured if something happened to the first, I’d have a spare.” He pauses, humming thoughtfully. “Guess that works out, then.”

Cas hums in agreement, reaching over to his nightstand and nearly dislodging Jimmy as he grabs his phone and earbuds. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves. I'm sure Dean will have a full five-act play’s worth to retell when we see him in Physics on Monday.”

Jimmy groans and rolls his eyes dramatically, sitting up to let Cas lie down beside him before curling back up against him. “Dude, I was _there_ and he _still_ gave me a play by play of the entire thing on the way home.” He takes the earbud offered to him and lays his head on Cas’ chest, waiting as Cas scrolls through his playlists to find something to nap to.

“Dean is very excitable,” Cas agrees bemusedly, settling on The Piano Guys. He sets the phone on his chest, and his other arm massages Jimmy’s lower back in small circles.

Jimmy hums in contentment, closing his eyes. “He's cute when he gets excited,” he murmurs sleepily, the fatigue of the day catching up with him.

“Very.”

“We should go full-on Twinkies on Monday,” Jimmy suggests. He snuggles further into Cas’ chest. “We can wear the sweaters and jeans and I won’t even brush my hair. See if Dean can tell the difference. What do you think?”

Cas’ chuckle vibrates through his chest into Jimmy’s cheek. “I think that will be extremely amusing.”

_Amusing_ doesn’t even begin to cover it when they walk into first period Physics and take their seats on either side of Dean, greeting him in unison and each giving him a wink. Dean resolutely does not look at either of them, face red, eyes wide and bright.

Ten minutes into class, Dean excuses himelf to the bathroom. Cas follows after him five minutes later, and Jimmy gives it another ten before he slips out too.

Dean really is cute when he’s excited.


	13. Dean/Cas - #44: "I'll drive you to the hospital."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course the Continental picks today of all days to stop working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, first meetings, strangers to lovers, mechanic!dean, neurosurgeon!cas, fluff

It’s a lucky thing, Cas thinks ruefully to himself as he watches smoke rise from the hood of his Lincoln Continental, that he decided to leave for work as early as he did. The sky is only just starting to lighten on the eastern horizon, and there’s still a bite to the wind. Cas tucks his face further into the collar of his coat and shivers.

He can hear Gabriel’s voice in the back of his mind: _I don’t wanna say I told you so, Cassie, but I definitely told you so._ He grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, pouting down at the ground. Okay, so he probably definitely should have taken his brother’s advice to have his car checked – “sell it as scrap and just buy a new one” totally sounds like “get it checked” – but he’d hoped it would last just one more week, until he could get his paycheck and look at renting something while he had the Continental checked.

The sound of an approaching engine pulls his attention up from his shoes, and he sighs in relief to see a tow truck coming to a stop twenty feet from him. The driver’s side door opens, and a man in overalls jumps out of the cab. Cas starts to smile as the man approaches at a light jog and immediately feels the breath stolen from him as the absolutely _gorgeous_ man smiles back and holds out a hand.

“HI, I’m Dean,” he introduces himself, and Cas faintly feels himself reaching out to shake his hand. Dean looks over at the car, whistling. “Yeah, that’s not good. You said the engine was making funny noises too?”

Cas nods, clearing his throat and finding his voice. “It’s been rattling and stuttering when I start it, and just today, I guess, it—” he trails off and gestures to the smoke still coming from under the hood.

Dean nods in understanding, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Well, I can’t do much out here on the road without all my tools, so how ‘bout we get this hooked up to the truck and I can give you a lift to the shop?”

“That sounds good,” Cas agrees with a smile, and he feels his knees go weak when Dean gives him a brilliant grin and wink in return.

Good Lord, but he’s attractive! Cas fights to keep from sighing dreamily as he watches Dean head back to his truck so he can maneuver it into place to hook up the Continental, and by the time Cas is situated in the passenger’s seat of the truck, he’s actively telling himself that it’s a little creepy to count a stranger’s freckles. No matter how cute they are.

“You know I don’t think I got your name,” Dean says suddenly, and he glances over at Cas.

Cas feels his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Oh, um, I’m Cas.” He chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble. “I apologize, it’s been a long week.”

“I am with you on that,” Dean agrees with a laugh. “What do you do, Cas?”  

“I’m a neurosurgeon at Kansas City Hospital,” Cas answers, smiling, and Dean whistles in approval.

“Wow, Cas, that’s awesome,” Dean compliments, smiling over at him warmly. Cas shrugs modestly, cheeks hot, feeling warm and happy that he’s impressed this mechanic he’s only just met.

“It pays the bills, I guess,” he says with a smile, and laughs when Dean snorts.

“I’ll bet it does,” Dean mutters, good-naturedly. “I gotta ask, though: if you’re making money like that, why are you still driving that piece of junk hooked up to my truck?”

“I’ll have you know the the Continental is a perfectly adequate car,” Cas says defensively, “and that it takes personal offense to your insults. It’s been good to me for years, and I guess I just… can’t bear the thought of letting it go.”

Dean nods appreciatively. “I can respect that. I guess I shouldn’t talk – my baby’s a ’67 Chevy Impala, first my dad’s, then mine. I’ve restored her twice: after my dad wrapped her around a barricade on the interstate, and after a semi nearly rolled me off the road a few years ago. So I understand attachment to a car.”

“Oh, Dean, that sounds awful,” Cas frowns, reaching out as if to offer comfort, but pulling his hand back to his lap. _You are a stranger,_ he chides himself. “How long were you hospitalized?”

“Two weeks,” Dean replies, making the turn onto the street where the auto shop is located. “I was in a coma for three days, couple broken ribs, fractured skull, but surprisingly no other major trauma or anything. Not even a broken leg.”

Cas lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding as they pull up to the auto shop. Dean lets him out at the main office and Cas heads to the waiting room to sit while Dean takes the Continental around to the work area so he can look at it.

Cas is lost in one of the magazines lying around when Dean comes back into the shop, covered in oil and wiping his hands on a rag. Cas closes the magazine and stands, worry overtaking him at Dean’s serious expression.

“Well, Cas,” Dean starts, and Cas’ stomach drops, “I could give you an explanation of exactly what’s wrong filled with mechanical jargon, but I’ll just leave it at: that beast ain’t running anywhere anytime soon. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, thank you,” Cas assures, but he bites his lip, looking at his watch.

Dean seems to catch on, because he steps closer, smiling gently. “You have to be at work, don’tcha?”

Cas nods, sighing. “I even left early today so I’d have time to grab coffee on my way,” he laments sadly, and Dean laughs.

“How ‘bout this,” Dean says, and Cas tries not to stare at his lips, imagining what it’d be like to kiss them. “I’ll drive you to the hospital, and you can buy when I take you out for coffee on your next day off.”

Cas blinks, looking up into Dean’s _very green_ eyes. Dean is grinning cheekily, and Cas feels an answering smile pulling up his lips.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Dean?” he teases, giddy, and Dean winks.

“Well, it’d be pretty dickish of me to make the cute neurosurgeon late to work because I took him out for coffee first,” Dean points out, and Cas laughs.

“In that case,” Cas says, “my next day off is this Friday. Do you know Gabriel’s?”


	14. Sam/Eileen - #2: "It reminded me of you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The necklace had a little gold dagger charm on it, and Sam just had to get it for Eileen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: canon-divergent after 11x11, friends to lovers, fluff

Pen tapping fills the silence in the library of the bunker, off-rhythm and sporadic. Sam flips another page in the book he’s looking through, not really seeing the words, his mind elsewhere. He jumps when a book is slammed down on the table next to him, and he looks up with wide eyes at Dean.

“Can you stop with the tapping?” Dean grunts, falling into a chair. “It’s really starting to irritate.”

Sam looks down at his hand, surprised to find the source of the tapping there. He immediately sets the pen down, running his hands over his face.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Sam gestures vaguely, but Dean gets it.

“Hey,” he says, and Sam looks at his brother. Dean gives him an encouraging smile. “It’s gonna be okay, man. She’s gonna love it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks, and Sam reaches into his pocket, pulling out the necklace he’d found in an antique shop a couple weeks ago while they hunted a djinn. The chain is a delicate yet sturdy gold, simple but elegant, and the charm – the whole reason it caught Sam’s eye in the first place – is a little gold dagger, unassuming from a distance but fierce up close.

Just like Eileen, he thinks fondly, carefully holding the necklace out to look at. At first, you don’t think there’s anything particularly special about the deaf woman keeping in the background, but over the weeks since the banshee at the retirement home, Sam has learned that there’s so much to her, from her iron will and determination to her grace and beauty and confidence in a world that tries to tear her down.

They’ve worked several cases together since then, and even met up outside of hunting a few times when they’re in the same area. Sam enjoys the coffee they get, and even diner food seems to taste better in her presence. Hell, even Dean’s ragging is tolerable on the days he gets to talk to Eileen.

The sound of a fist banging against metal reverberates through the bunker, and Sam quickly pockets the necklace as Dean gets up to go open the door. Sam stands awkwardly by the table, wriging his hands, before shaking himself and going to help Dean let Eileen in. He smiles as she comes into view, and her returning grin is wide and bright. Dean takes her duffel bag, freeing her hands, and she lifts them to sign. 

_How are you, Sam?_

_Good,_  he replies, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. _You?_

 _Tired._ “Long trip,” she says with a shrug. “Is there food?”

“Yeah, Dean was just making dinner.” Sam shoots his brother a pointed look, and Dean throws his hands up, making himself scarce and heading to the kitchen. Sam smiles back at Eileen “It’s gonna be about an hour, though.”

“Alright.” Eileen looks around the bunker, taking in the war room and library visible to her. “This is the Men of Letters bunker?”

Sam nods, feeling his chest swell slightly with pride. “Yeah. We found it a few years ago after meeting our dad’s dad when he was running from a demon. He’s how we found out about being legacies.”

Eileen nods along, wandering over to the bookshevles and perusing the tomes, fingers running over their spines. Sam goes to the table, marking the books he’d been reading and setting them aside out of the way. Eileen glances at them.

“What are you guys hunting?” she asks, tilting her head to read the titles upside down, then looks up at Sam.

“We just finished up hunting a rougarou, but we’re always on the lookout for anything that may help us defeat the Darkness.” Sam fingers the edge of a book, mouth pinched. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much on ancient biblical beings that happen to be God’s sister.”

Eileen gives him a sympathetic look. “Can’t look her up on Facebook, huh?”

Sam snorts a laugh at the thought of sending Amara – or even God Himself – a friend request, or asking them for extra lives in Farmville. “That would certainly make our lives easier,” he agrees, sitting in his chair while Eileen takes the one next to him, giving him a smug smile.

They make mindless conversation while waiting for Dean, Eileen helping improve Sam’s sign language vocabulary little by little. Dean serves burgers for dinner, and it’s nice to be able to kick back and enjoy cold beer and homemade food, letting his worries fade to the back to focus on his family.

Later, Dean heads to bed early, and Sam and Eileen remain at the library table, smiling and laughing while trading stories. He hasn’t had this much fun in years, he thinks, and he’s missed the feeling.

“I’ve had a really nice time tonight,” Eileen tells him, setting her beer aside. “Thank you for having me.”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “I like having you.” He pauses, reaching into his pocket. “I like _you._ ”

Eileen looks away, a smile playing on her lips, and Sam thinks it’s the cutest thing to see her blush. “I like you too, Sam. I’m glad to have met you.”

Sam feels the stupid smile on his own face, and he chuckles, pulling the necklace out of his pocket. _Now or never._ “Oh, I, uh. I got you something.” Eileen gently takes it from him, smiling softly as she looks it over. When she looks back at him, Sam continues, “It reminded me of you. The gold knife when we first met, you know.”

Eileen laughs, holding the charm between her fingers. “I love it.” She undoes the clasp, immediately hooking it around her neck. “Thank you so much.” Tentatively, she reaches out for Sam’s hand, and he smiles as their fingers lace together.


	15. Dean/Cas (SPN) - #39: "Don't cry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a rainy Thursday afternoon when Dean meets his very best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: modern au, kidfic, kid!dean, kid!cas, mild bullying cw, slight hurt/comfort, fluff

It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon when Dean meets his very best friend on the playground. He’s playing on the jungle gym, running around with the other kids as they play an epic game of tag, when Ms. Harvelle comes out when another boy standing shyly by her legs.

“Class!” she calls, and they stop their game long enough to give her their attention. She gestures to the boy by her. “This is Castiel Novak, and he’s joining our class today.”

He’s pale with dark hair, and when he looks up at the half-hearted hellos his new classmates give him, Dean is caught off guard by how blue his eyes are. Big and bright, like the sky. He stares at them for a second before looking away again, but Dean can’t stop looking at him.

Satisfied with the introduction, Ms. Harvelle walks off to join the other teachers, and everyone gets back to the game. Dean debates going to introduce himself, but finds himself too shy, so he turns and runs off, trying to stay away from Charlie, who’s It. For a while, he forgets about the new boy, laughing and running with his friends while they enjoyed the rest of their recess period.

In fact, Dean doesn’t think about the new boy again until he notices the commotion going on at the swings. He’s catching his breath behind the slide, hiding out from whoever’s It, when he sees Gordon Walker and his buddies pushing someone off a swing, pointing and laughing. The new boy is on the ground, holding his arm and keeping his head down while the other boys throw gravel at him.

Dean’s up and crossing the playground before he knows it, glaring at Gordon. “Hey!” he shouts, gaining their attention. “Leave him alone!”

Gordon turns to him, sneering. “Or what?” he taunts. “What are you gonna do about it, Winchester?”

Dean shoves Gordon as hard as he can, making him stumble back. “Shut up, Walker. You’re just a jerk who has to pick on other people to make yourself feel better because nobody likes you.”

Gordon glares back at him, taking a step like he’s gonna push Dean back, but Dean stands his ground, just like his Daddy taught him. Gordon seems to think better of doing anything, turning and walking off with a scoff. “Whatever, Winchester. I don’t wanna be around a fag like you anyway.”

Dean stays tensed until Gordon is across the playground. When he can’t see him anymore, Dean relaxes, turning to the new boy who’s looking up at him with big, blue eyes filled with tears.

“Hey,” Dean says gently, worry in his voice. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” He reaches out and wipes the tears away, giving the boy a smile. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just jerks. Are you okay?”

The boy sniffs, his lip trembling. He holds up his hands, which hold a dirty, torn bee plushie.

“They tried to take him from me,” he says, holding him to his chest and hugging the plushie tight. “Said I was a baby because only babies have toys.”

Dean clenches his fists in anger, taking deep breaths to calm himself like his Momma taught him. “Well, don’t listen to them, okay?” he says gently, looking into the boy’s blue eyes. He points to the bee. “I think he’s really cute. What’s his name?”

The boy smiles, holding out the bee again. “I call him Mr. Honey, because bees make honey. They also pollinate flowers and fruits and vegetables so they grow right and taste good. That’s what Michael says.”

Dean grins, sitting down in the gravel by the swings. “Who’s Michael?”

“My older brother,” the boy replies. “He looks after me when Daddy and Mama are at work.” He looks intently at Dean, then, and Dean likes the way the sun reflects the blue of his eyes. “Do you have any brothers?”

“Just Sammy,” Dean says proudly. “He’s four.”

“Michael’s thirteen.”

“Cool.”

They sit quietly for a minute before Dean sits up. “I’m Dean, by the way. What’s your name? I know Ms. Harvelle said it,” he adds, “but I can’t remember it.”

The boy just giggles. “That’s okay, it’s a special name. A lot of people can’t remember it at first. I’m Castiel. But most people call me Cas.”

“Cas-tee-el?” Dean tries, and grins widely when Castiel nods in approval. “I think it’s a pretty cool name.”

“It’s an angel name,” Cas says, absently petting his bee. “Mama likes angels, so she named me and Michael after them.”

Dean scuffs his shoe in the gravel. “I was named after my Grandma Deanna. Sammy was named after Grandpa Samuel.”

“That’s cool,” Cas smiles, and Dean grins back. The bell rings then, and Dean stands up, holding his hand out for Cas.

“C’mon, Cas! You can sit by me! We’re gonna be great friends!”

And they are.

And on a rainy Thursday afternoon on the playground they’re revisiting years later, Dean drops to one knee and holds out a simple silver band to a smiling, teary-eyed Cas.


	16. Dean/Cas (SPN) - #56: "It brings out your eyes."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fact: Cas' eyes are the bluest blue to ever blue. Seriously. It's like the sky's contained in them. 
> 
> Fact: Dean is hopelessly in love with them, and maybe Cas, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: college au, roommates, friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff

Dean grunts as he sets the last of his boxes of things down on his bed in the new apartment. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, squinting out the window. Fucking hundred-degree summers and no goddamn air conditioning.

“Oh,” a voice says behind him, and Dean turns a raised eyebrow on his roommate. Cas grins, carrying in the rest of his boxes. “I didn’t know room and board included free strip shows.”

Dean barks out a laugh, dropping his shirt. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll start charging your ass if this heat wave keeps up.”

Cas smirks at him as he sets his stuff down, wiping sweat from his own forehead and winking. “It’ll be worth it.”

Dean bites his lip on a grin, turning away so his friend won’t see how red his face undoubtedly is. Cas has always been a big flirt, easily charming with a mischievous innocence that naturally draws people in, and Dean is no exception. They’d met at a carnival, of all things: Dean had been working the ring toss for the summer as a little bit of income, and this little blue-eyed minx had stepped up, sliding Dean his money for three tosses.

“What are my prizes?” he’d asked, smile sweet and eyes wide.

Dean had forcibly had to stop himself from telling him _A date with me._ Instead, he gestured where the bottles were set up. “The red ones get you a small figure, the green get you a small plush, and blue get you one of the large plushes.”

Blue eyes blinked at him, sparkling in the noonday sun, and he took the rings. Dean stepped back and crossed his arms, watching as Blue Eyes calculated the best angle to throw and then let loose. His first ring bounced off the green bottles towards the back, settling between a green and red. The second settled between two blue bottles. Clicking his tongue, he picked up the third ring with a determined glint in his eye, and Dean watched in amusement as he licked his lips, tilting his head this way and that before curling his arm and tossing the ring with a flick of his wrist.

It landed around a blue bottle in the dead center, ringing against the glass.

The smug grin Dean was given made his heart skip a beat and his dick jump beneath his zipper, and he was never so grateful for the rickety stand he spent his summer days behind.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Dean looks over at Cas as he pulls out the things from his box, including a palm-sized bee plush. The colors are faded from constant handling, one of the wings threadbare, and the antennae drooping from the stitching coming loose.

“Oh, man, you still have that?” Dean walks over, Cas turning to face him with a soft grin.

“Of course I still have him,” Cas says, holding him out to examine. “It was the first thing you ever gave me.”

Dean looks down shyly, fighting a smile and reaching up to gently squeeze the plush. “All I did was hand him over, you did the work to win him.”

“But you were the one to hand him over,” Cas insists with a laugh, looking down at the plush with fondness. “And imagine my surprise when, on my first day of junior year at a new school in a new town, the first person I see is the cute guy from the ring toss.”

Dean looks up at Cas from under his lashes, corner of his mouth turning up. “You think I’m cute?”

Cas rolls his eyes, punching Dean on the shoulder and turning back to his box. “Don’t pretend you don’t know you’re adorable, Dean Winchester. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Dean laughs, feeling giddy, and turns to go unpack his own boxes. They unpack quietly, talking about their last year of college and how they're excited to finally be finishing up. The rest of their day is spent setting up their new apartment, getting comfortable and settled in. It’s late evening when Dean gets to his last box, full of clothes his mom folded and packed away for him to go through. Most of it is winter stuff, sweaters and hoodies that he almost doesn’t even want to handle because just looking at them makes him sweat bullets. He gives each one a once over anyway, setting the ones he thinks he’ll wear in one pile and the stuff that’s too small or has too many holes in it in another, making a mental note to put them in a bag to take to Goodwill or throw out.

He’s looking over an old sweater, a knitted blue number that he’s pretty sure Mom gave him for Christmas one year that he never actually wore and probably can’t now, when a hand reaches out for it from over his shoulder, slender fingers running over the fabric. He looks up at Cas.

“I don’t remember this one,” Cas says, fingering the material.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think I ever wore it.” He holds it up to his chest, looking down at himself. The arms just barely come to his wrists. “I think it was a Christmas gift.”

Cas chuckles, running his hand over it. “It’s very soft,” he comments. “I love sweaters.”

Dean knows this well, and he watches his best friend and crush of nearly five years now run his hands over the sweater, secretly enjoying Cas’ hands on his chest, before holding the sweater in front of him, seeing how it might fit him. Cas is a lot more slender than Dean, with wiry limbs that belie his strength, and Dean’s pretty sure it’ll fit him perfectly. He also doesn’t miss that the color of the sweater matches Cas’ eyes exactly. With a decisive hum, he pushes it towards Cas. “Here. Happy early birthday.”

Cas looks up at him, surprised but pleased. He takes the sweater gently, hugging it to himself with a grateful smile. “Really?”

“It ain’t gonna fit me anymore,” Dean points out, rubbing the back of his neck. “And blue’s never been my color, anyway. It’ll be more at home on you once the weather’s chilled out.”

Cas happily looks over the sweater. “You think?”

“It brings out your eyes,” Dean blurts, apropos of nothing, and immediately bites his lip, looking away. Wow, that was sappy, what the fuck. He coughs awkwardly, pointedly ignoring the wide, shit-eating grin Cas is giving him.

“Oh, does it?” Cas teases, tilting his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “You spend a lot of time looking into my eyes?”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles, but there’s no heat to it. He turns away, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “They’re really blue, okay? Not like you don’t know.”

“Dean.” Cas lays a gentle hand on his arm, and Dean reluctantly looks back at him. “It’s fine. Really. I like the thought of you looking at my eyes. Hell, just looking at me in general. I’m kinda vain like that.”

Dean laughs, dropping his arms and relaxing. Cas steps closer, pressing into his personal space, and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean sets his chin on Cas’ shoulder, arms loose around Cas’ waist, the sweater squished between them. Five years of flirting and pining, of _will we won’t we, are we aren’t we_ – all of it just melts away from Dean, leavng him light and happy.

“For the record,” Cas says, breath warm against Dean’s neck, “I like looking at your eyes, too. And your freckles. And your lips. I look at those a lot.”

Dean’s cheeks are burning in embarrassment at Cas’ words, and he buries his face into Cas’ neck. “You’re weird,” he mumbles, lips brushing over soft skin. Cas hums in pleasure, and Dean’s pretty sure he feels lips against his temple.

“You love it.”

Dean pulls back, looking into those blue eyes that had caught him and held tight for five years. They’re still bright, still full of mischief and wonder, still so fucking blue. He smiles. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Cas smiles back, and Dean thinks it fitting that his kiss tastes like sunlight.  

**Author's Note:**

> Want to reserve a prompt? [Send in an ask](http://deanjimmy.co.vu/100ways) on my tumblr! 
> 
> Don't have tumblr? Feel free to leave a request as a comment instead! If you'd like to know which prompts are already reserved, visit my ['100 Ways' Masterpost](http://deanjimmy.co.vu/100ways) first!
> 
> tumblr: [leviathncas](http://deanjimmy.co.vu)


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